jherbert.sepulchre-第58节

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　　As　he　began　to　turn；　Janusz　Palusinski　brought　a　short；　metal　bar　down　against　his　temple。　The　oblivion　was　almost　a　relief。
　　　
　　　
　　　41　THINGS　FROM　THE　LAKE
　　
　　They　could　hardly　believe　the　power　of　the　rain。
　　It　pounded；　weighing　heavily　on　their　shoulders　and　backs；　making　progress　slippery　and　slow。　At　least　the　downpour　rendered　them　less　visible；　their　mander　thought　as　he　urged　them　along。
　　'What　the　hell　is　this；　Danny？'　McGuire　yelled　close　to　his　ear。　'I've　never　known　the　likes！'　A　truer　word　never　spoken。　The　man　called　Danny　looked　out　at　the　lake　and　shivered；　not　from　the　cold。　The　water　was　as　fierce　as　St　George's　Channel　in　the　worst　winter　months　a　crossing　he　had　made　with　loathing　many　times　in　the　past。　God　in　Heaven；　it　was　eerie　what　was　happening　out　there。
　　From　the　bank　they　had　watched　lightning　strike　the　water　more　than　once；　sheening　its　tossed　surface　a　silvery　green；　the　froth　on　the　shoreline　luminous　in　the　dark。　The　thunderclaps　that　followed　had　made　their　ears　ring；　caused　them　to　throw　themselves　against　the　soaked　earth　as　if　mortar　shells　had　dropped　among　them。　His　men　were　frightened；　wanted　to　turn　back。　But　that　was　not　to　be　and　greater　fear　of　their　mander　held　them　steady；　kept　them　mindful　of　their　duty。
　　They　had　been　caught　by　the　downpour　on　a　steep　embankment；　the　drenched　soil　slithery　beneath　their　feet；　the　only　handholds　a　few　tree　roots　here　and　there。　Two　of　the　men　walked　along　in　the　water　itself；　arms　stretched　out　to　the　bank　for　support　when　the　going　got　particularly　tricky。　Danny　cursed　the　freak　storm；　wondering　at　it　at　the　same　time。
　　They　had　e　this　far　and　there　was　no　turning　back。　Their　man；　their　bastard　target；　was　in　the　grand　manor　house　they　had　glimpsed　from　afar；　now　but　a　few　minutes　away；　and　he　was　going　to　pay　dearly　for　what　he'd　done。　He　was　going　to　suffer　for　the　suffering　he　had　caused　others。　No　doubting　that；　no　turning　tail　now。
　　An　alarmed　shout　from　nearby。　One　of　his　men　was　sliding　deeper　into　the　churning　water；　his　Armalite　raised　high。　His　panion；　who　had　been　wading　behind；　reaching　out　to　pull　him　up。
　　A　jagged　lightning　streak　pierced　the　lake；　a　startling　irradiation　instantly　spreading　outwards。　The　crack　of　thunder　overhead　cowed　the　group；　and　in　the　white　glare　the　leader　saw　the　terrified　expression　of　the　two　in　the　water；　as　if　they　had　both　received　a　shock。
　　They　began　to　go　under。
　　He　slid　down　the　embankment；　shouting　to　the　others　to　help　their　panions。　But　when　he　reached　the　edge　of　the　water；　his　boots　enveloped；　anorak　smeared　by　mud；　he　stared　in　horror　across　the　lake。
　　There　were　shapes　out　there。
　　Canescent；　hazy；　almost　lost　in　the　sheeting　rain；　but　nevertheless；　discernible　rearing　shapes　that　were　part　of　the　storm　itself。
　　It　was　impossible。　He　wiped　wetness　from　his　eyes；　disbelieving　what　he　saw。　But　they　were　there；　growing　like　grey　amorphous　monsters　out　of　the　waves。
　　Something　bumped　into　him　and　he　turned　with　a　start。　McGuire…he　thought　it　was　McGuire　in　the　dismal　light…was　also　watching　the　lake；　his　mouth　working　loosely　as　though　he　had　lost　the　power　of　speech。
　　A　scream　and　they　saw　their　two　panions　were　in　the　water　up　to　their　shoulders。
　　'Help　them！'　Danny　yelled；　scrabbling　forward。　He　noticed　that　the　Armalite　was　gone　and　swore　at　the　frightened　subordinate　who　had　dropped　it。　Another　of　his　men　was　closer　and　was　leaning　over；　stretching　an　arm　out　to　the　two　in　the　water。
　　But　everyone　stopped　when　whiteness　flooded　the　sky　and　another　discharge　channelled　itself　to　the　lake；　the　shifted　air　booming。　It　was　what　they　suddenly　saw　beneath　the　surface　that　had　frozen　them。
　　Vague；　nebulous　forms　filled　the　water　below；　massing　together；　squirming　spasmodically；　tendril…like　appendages　waving　in　the　currents；　occupying　the　lake　as　though　the　content　was　not　water　but　moving；　liquid　beings。
　　A　waterspout　erupted　then　swooped　down；　like　a　tentacle；　curling　round　the　two　men　who　clawed　at　the　bank。　It　drew　them　into　the　lake　and　their　screams　became　a　bubbling　froth。　It　seemed；　although　it　was　too　dark　to　be　certain；　that　other　smaller　tendrils　of　fluid　pulled　at　them　too。
　　The　leader　shuddered　incredulously；　then　gasped　when　something　tightened　around　his　own　ankle。　With　a　frightened　cry；　he　jerked　his　leg　clear；　and　perhaps　it　was　merely　overwrought　imagination　that　caused　him　to　think　a　watery　claw　had　risen　with　his　leg　to　plop　shapeless　back　into　the　choppy　lake。
　　The　two　men　were　gone；　he　knew　that。　There　was　no　helping　them　at　all。　He　scrambled　up　the　embankment；　digging　toes　and　hands　into　the　slimy　soil；　afraid　he　would　slide　back　into　the　water　to　lie　among　those　things　stirring　there。　His　two　remaining　men　were　following　suit；　scrambling　away　from　the　foamy　lake　where　waterspouts　resembling　misshapen　creatures　burst　upwards　into　the　stormy　night。
　　Waves　hurled　themselves　at　the　climbing　men　as　if　to　drag　them　back；　but　they　plunged　their　fingers　into　the　mud；　using　tree　roots　whenever　their　fumbling　hands　chanced　upon　them；　grateful　for　every　inch　they　could　gain。
　　They　collapsed　on　the　grass　at　the　top　of　the　embankment；　rolling　over　and　over　into　the　bushes；　putting　as　much　distance　between　themselves　and　the　water's　edge　as　possible。　At　last　they　settled　among　the　trees；　trembling　and　panting；　the　rain's　force　tempered　by　the　leafy　canopy　above　them。
　　'For　God's　sake；　let's　away　from　here！'　Danny　recognised　McGuire's　voice；　distorted　by　terror　though　it　was。
　　'No；'　he　said；　loud　enough　to　be　heard　over　the　storm。　'Whatever　it　was　back　there　can't　harm　us　now。'　He　was　shocked；　stunned　by　what　had　happened　and　the　loss　of　two　good　men。　But　Danny　Shay　was　a　determined　man。　An　executioner　who　had　already　tortured　and　killed　one　person　to　locate　his　intended　victim。
　　He　rose　and　grabbed　the　shoulders　of　his　exhausted　panions；　hauling　them　to　their　feet。
　　'Get　yourselves　moving；'　he　told　them。　'The　house　isn't　far　and　there's　a　bastard　there　deservin'　to　die。'
　　　
　　　
　　　42　SEPULCHRE
　　
　　As　in　the　dream；　there　were　large；　staring　eyes　watching　him。　Unnatural　eyes。　Stone　eyes。
　　Halloran　held　his　breath　as　pain　ached　through　his　head。　He　raised　a　leaden　hand　to　his　forehead　and　held　his　temples；　exerting　soft　pressure　with　fingers　and　thumb。　The　ache　eased　only　slightly。　He　blinked；　taking　in　the　statues；　a　gathering　of　them；　thirty　at　least；　standing　a　few　yards　away。　Observing。　A　few　were　in　groups；　man；　woman　and　child。　Some　were　at　least　five　foot　high。　Their　fixed　gaze　was　inescapable。
　　Among　them　in　a　high…backed　ornate　chair　was　a　figure；　this　of　flesh　and　blood；　for　it　shifted　slightly　when　Halloran　pushed　himself　up　onto　an　elbow。　The　figure　settled　back；　a　formless　shadow　amidst　the　sculptures。
　　The　floor　was　wet　where　Halloran　lay；　grimy　water　seeping　through　the　cracks　in　the　flagstones。　The　dampness　brought　with　it　a　putrid　smell；　a　different　odour　underlying　that。　Melting　wax。　The　chamber　was　lit　by　hosts　of　black　candles；　their　glow　soft　and　unsteady。
　　'Help　him　to　his　knees；'　a　voice　said。　It　might　have　been　Kline's　except　its　rasping　quality　reminded　Halloran　of　the　lodgekeeper。
　　Hands　pulled　at　him　roughly　and　his　mind　was　too　dulled　for　him　to　resist。　As　he　knelt；　something　passed　around　his　throat；　and　a　sudden　sharpness　there　jerked　him　erect。　He　tried　to　twist　away　and　the　pressure　increased。　His　hands　went　to　the　cause；　but　there　was　nothing　they　could　grip。
　　'Struggle　and　the　wire　will　bite　deeper；'　the　same　voice　warned。
　　Halloran　couldn't　see　the　person　behind　him；　but　he　could　feel　whoever　it　was　leaning　into　his　back。　A　spiciness　wafted　down　among　the　other　smells。
　　'Youssef　is　master　of　the　garotte；'　came　the　voice　again；　and　this　time　he　was　sure　it　was　Kline　sitting　there　in　the　shadows；　even　though　the　tones　were　roughened。　'Try　to　resist　and　you'll　find　out　for　yourself。'　There　was　a　weariness　to　his　words　that　made　Kline　seem　very　old。
　　When　Halloran　took　his　hands　away　they　were　smeared　with　his　own　blood。
　　'Let　him　see；　Youssef。　Let　him　see　where　he　is。'　The　pressure　slackened　and　Halloran　was　able　to　look　around；　although　his　view　was　restricted。　The　room　was　long　and　high…ceilinged；　and　the　walls　glinted　in　the　candlelight　as　if　water　was　trickling　through　the　brickwork。　A　solid　stairway　led　upwards　and　Halloran　saw　there　was　a　passage　but　no　door　in　the　darkness　at　the　top。　There　were　archways　around　the　sides　of　the　chamber　as　though　the　place　might　once　have　been　used　as　a　wine…cellar；　there　was　no　way　of　knowing　what　was　inside　those　cavities　now；　for　they　were　cast　into　the　deepest　shadows。　As　well　as　the　candles；　there　were　oil　lamps　here　and　there　helping　to　light　the　place；　these　close　to　pedestals　on　which　stood　delicately　worked　statues　and　effigies　in　shiny　metals。　On　one　near　to　where　Halloran　knelt　there　was　what　appeared　to　be　a　goat　rearing　up　on　hind　legs　against　a　tree　of　gold；　the　animal's　fleece　of　deep　blue　stone　and　white　shell。　The　small　statue　was　exquisite；　but　Halloran's　eyes　did　not　linger　on　it　for　long。
　　At　one　end　of　the　room　was　a　large　rectangular　sl